


Pattern

by Aeroblitz



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 23:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13421775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeroblitz/pseuds/Aeroblitz
Summary: Since the moment their paths crossed, their fate was determined. The first meeting of their optics nearly had sparks flying, connecting them across the decrepit room. A dare met with a challenge. Challenge met with a response. Response paired with pleads and promises, which they both knew were false. A mock insult followed, the dare reiterated. Then, once more, challenge accepted. This was their pattern, and they would never let it go.





	Pattern

Since the moment their paths crossed, their fate was determined. The first meeting of their optics nearly had sparks flying, connecting them across the decrepit room. A dare met with a challenge. Challenge met with a response. Response paired with pleads and promises, which they both knew were false. A mock insult followed, the dare reiterated. Then, once more, challenge accepted. 

It did not matter if this never-ending cycle was against their shared enemies or against each other. It was always there since the beginning. Slightly, barely visible at the start, but undeniably present. 

As time went on it became a more intense game. It spanned across galaxies and millenniums. More players, however unwilling, were dragged into foiled schemes. 

Originally, it was just friendly banter, petty disagreements, then full out arguments. By this time, it was so commonplace, just another part of both of their typical lives. By now, it was easily accepted by anyone who has been there from the start. Only newcomers could see how far it truly spiraled down. 

That first strike should have been a sign. A warning of worst yet to come. The others should have spotted what was coming to fruition. And yet, no one stopped it. 

Not even Soundwave or Shockwave saw the signs. A twitch of the digits. A more explosive anger. The treacherous glint of scarlet optics. No, such details went unnoticed. 

The first, single strike of the servo turned into many. It was returned with a fight. Followed by another, and another. The strikes turned to blows with lesser weapons. More powerful shots were gifted back. 

Around that moment, some of the other Decepticons were starting to realize what they let happen. They tried to end it, but by that time the damage was done. 

Blatant fire became backstabbing. It was rewarded with brig time. Poison came next, harsher discipline was doled out. 

Both combatants released bribes to their fellows to support the quest. Lies were spoken, complex politics forming in the shadows. Plans were made, strategies deployed. A constant battle of wills present in what used to be trivial tasks. 

But such events took place in the comfort of secure bases. On the battlefield the same cycle was present but it was completely different. 

With the Autobots acting as the common foe, disagreements were put aside for the moment. Separating, one took to the skies, commanding a powerful legion. The other took on his counterpart, exchanging blow for blow and inch for inch. 

Occasionally, they cross paths in the crossfire. Surrounded by enemies on all sides, the two would go back to back. Both putting equal faith in the other to guard their blind side. The grey mech goaded their enemies, who accepted the challenge. The seeker gave a cackle as he dodged the red and blue lasers in response. A flurry of white, mangled, energon-dripping wings, and the resounding purple shots of a midnight colored cannon, and the fight was won. The screams and pleads of their opponents silenced forever. 

During these moments came a presented opportunity to offline the other injured mech. Yet, for an unexplainable or logical reason to the other Decepticons, neither the gladiator or the seeker ever made such a brash final move. 

Even when Starscream held Megatron’s unprotected alt-form in his sky-blue servos or when Megatron had the flyer stuck in a place of absolute deactivation under the fusion cannon, neither one summoned the final blow. 

Unknown to the others, even Soundwave or Starscream’s trine, something told the two that the other mech would never perform the final blow. Not now at least. Perhaps in a few hundred vorns, but not yet. They enjoyed the game a little too much.

Arrogant smirk met a sinister grin. Optics locked in place, caught in positions they were in so many times before. There was a promise made there. Neither would end what had long ago turned into a horrid game. There would be a new chance, started with a dare. The dare would be matched with a challenge. The challenge was given a response. The response would lead to pleads and false promises. At the end of it all, a single insult would follow, and the cycle would renew. 

Never ending, it would last beyond the war. Neither mech would give this up. It was their private game, a cycle of the tables turning and going back again. This was their pattern, and they would never give it up.


End file.
